


Seldom All They Seem

by fadingest



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: F/M, Werewolf of Wall Street
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadingest/pseuds/fadingest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To absolutely no one's surprise, Frank Doyle has an insane crush on his boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seldom All They Seem

**Author's Note:**

> This has been percolating in my brain since I listened to WoWS so I figured I might as well write it down and post it. Basically I care too much about the Doyles and it's becoming a problem.

Frank wakes slowly, meandering noncommittally towards consciousness, as though he’s lost either his way or the motivation to continue. The apartment is like pitch around him when he grudgingly opens his eyes – it must be very late indeed. He blinks sleepily and yawns, still in that comfortable middle stage of drunkenness where the world feels a little bit farther away and he can’t remember any of the things he’s trying not to think about. There’s no need to tempt fate by encouraging the onset of sobriety, though, so he fumbles for the flask in his jacket pocket and takes another swig.

“Drinking alone, Frank? That doesn’t sound like much fun.” The voice – _her_ voice – comes from close by, and Frank almost drops the flask in surprise. Sadie Knickerhouse slips out of the darkness as though it were a curtain and plucks it from his numbing fingers. She takes a long pull, and he is mesmerized by the slender expanse of her neck as she swallows. Setting the flask aside, she leans forward, bracing herself with her hands on his wrists to pin them against the arms of the chair. There doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room, or maybe he’s just forgotten how to breathe.

“There, now you’re drinking with me. Isn’t that better?” Frank nods mutely, blood roaring in his ears. Desire overwhelms curiosity almost instantly, and it doesn't occur to him to wonder why she's here, only to marvel that she is.

Her voice drops low and secretive. “What else would you like to do with me, Frank?” He’s not sure whether it’s a question or a challenge or an offer, and his thoughts aren’t in nearly enough order for him to even attempt a reply. She doesn’t wait, and Frank makes a helpless little noise as she closes the last distance between them to capture his lips with hers.

She kisses him roughly, ruthless and fiery and tasting somehow of fine champagne. It’s difficult to think, especially when she nips sharply at his lower lip. It becomes impossible when she soothes away the sting with her tongue and his head fills up with radio static.

When she lets him breathe, he’s panting embarrassingly loudly, feeling dazed. Her eyes flicker down for a split second, and the corner of her mouth quirks dangerously, like a warning that he adamantly does not heed. One hand releases him to brush lightly over the front of his trousers and Frank’s head jerks back into the chair with a strangled groan.

“What do you want, Frank?” she asks again, and her smile is deadly sharp and unmistakably predatory. She sounds delighted, like she’s deeply enjoying watching him struggle for coherence.

“I want – _nnngh_ – ” He gasps as she presses a little more firmly, eyes dancing.

“I want you, _Sadie_ , Sadie-love, please, I need – ” and she’s kissing him again like salvation while her clever fingers free him from his trousers. Her hands are on fire when she touches him and stars burst behind his eyelids – she’s stealing the air from his lungs and he's dizzy with her like she's stronger than absinthe.

“ _Sadie_ ,” he says desperately against her lips, and then, “ _please_.” In answer, she’s suddenly crowding up against him, knees on either side of his. Her dress has slipped up around her waist and he is burning, burning with the heat of her, so close that he’s wild with it.

She leans her forehead to his, and her loose hair falls in soft curtains around them both as she locks eyes with him. He thinks he might shatter, just break apart under the sheer weight of anticipation. He can feel her breath, tantalizing on his lips, and her hands are on his wrists again. It hadn’t occurred to him to move while they were free; it was as though he’d forgotten that he _could_ – not that he would have wanted to, in any case. 

Her eyes flutter closed and her lips part in a soft sigh as she sinks down onto him, achingly slow. Frank moans through his teeth, nails digging into his palms at the look on her face when she bites her lip and, _oh,_ the _sound_ she makes. He’s never wanted anything like he wants her, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do now that he has her – or rather, now that she has him.

“Touch me, Frank,” she whispers as though she can read his mind, releasing him to brace her hands on his shoulders as she rocks forward, starting an unhurried rhythm that makes time stutter to a hazy crawl. It takes uncounted moments to register that the quiet keening in his ears is his own, and that his hands have lifted to rest tentatively against her hips without him having any say in the matter. They're shaking just slightly, and he needs her so fervently that he's halfway terrified of hurting her with the strength of it.

Sadie’s hand curls around the back of his neck and her teeth scrape the shell of his ear. “Go on and _touch_ me,” she growls, punctuating with a sharp tug on his hair, "I won't break." Frank whimpers and surrenders as time restarts with a jolt, the last vestige of what little restraint he possessed ceasing to exist even as a memory. He’s drowning in her – his grip tightens and he yanks her down against him, the delicate fabric of her dress bunching between his fingers. “Oh! That’s it, Frank, darling—”

“Say that again, love,” he pleads, gasping, as he slides his hands down her thighs, slipping under the hem of her dress, hungry for her bare skin on his fingertips.

“ _Darling_ ,” she murmurs, all lips and teeth and vivid tongue at his throat, and he shudders. “ _My_ darling,” she says again, and it sounds like absolution (and it sounds like  _I'll say when_ and _A constantly interesting place_ and  _You'll just have to kiss me_ and  _I love you_  and _I love you_ and _I love you_ \- but how does he know they're all the same, how does he _know_ \- ). Heat flashes across his skin as something vital and tectonic shifts into place at that, as though he’s been in pain for so very long that he hadn't known what relief was like until she breathed it back into his lungs.

Sadie kisses him again and moans quietly against his mouth as she moves faster, and he wants to taste every sound she’s ever made. He wants to taste her when she's giggling at some horror, or half-asleep in the middle of the afternoon, or tipsy and pliant on centuries-old rum. He wants to never have to stop touching her, for her to smile at him like that forever, for this moment to stretch elastic into blissful eternity. He wants _everything_ ; he wants so much that he can’t fathom the disarmingly specific images darting through his imagination - all accompanied by the clear ringing chime of something striking… metal? No, glass, it's certainly glass (Why is that so _important_ ) - and all he knows is that he _wants_.

Frank tips his head back and his vision flashes white, and he’s falling away from her even as her painted nails bite into the skin of his shoulder - she's slipping through his fingers no matter how he tries to hold tight and—

* * *

He wakes with a start, pitching forward in the chair and catching himself just before he would have toppled to the floor. Midmorning light leaks timidly around the edges of heavy curtains, and his dingy apartment is not at all improved by the illumination. For a long moment, he stares blankly into the empty room, breathing hard, getting his bearings. He shakes his head as though to clear it, then lets it drop into his hands. If he keeps this up, he’s never going to be able to look his supervisor in the eye again (he can still feel the searing heat of her, smoldering under his skin – it had felt so _real_ ).

 _Pull yourself together, Doyle_ , he thinks sternly - but when he closes his eyes, he can still see the afterimage of Sadie’s enticingly wicked grin. Frank groans and presses the heels of his hands harder against his eyelids, until bright blotches of aching color drown her out. He _desperately_ needs a drink.


End file.
